Question With An Answer Only Dead Men Know
by RhiannonNymph
Summary: Tag for 'Family Remains', in the sense that it takes place right after. Dean wonders what becomes of people like those kids when they die. And what does that mean for people like him?


**DISCLAIMER: **I still don't own anything, and I still think that's a sad thing. But I am going to a convention in a month, so I'll maybe own some sweet photos and autographs of the people coming - though it doesn't look like Jensen will be there. :( And I take my title from Nickle Creek's "When In Rome".

* * *

**QUESTION WITH AN ANSWER ONLY DEAD MEN KNOW**

Dean dropped down onto his bed; Sam was across the street getting them some dinner.

He just wanted to lay down, well, take a shower, then lie down and then pass out. He'd been crawling around inside walls and long sealed off parts of some godforsaken house where terrible things had happened. He felt dirty, in more ways than one.

Those kids were beyond messed up. Not that he could blame them; they'd been locked away by Daddy slash Grandpa all their lives with only each other for company. Wasn't there a book were a kid was raised by wolfs and turned out just a feral as them. They didn't know any better, they didn't have a chance to learn anything different.

They were barely human. He couldn't help but wonder who was less human, them or their father? They'd survived and grown the only way they knew how. Daddy dearest was…he didn't have a word for the type of person that man must have been. He was definitely the one less human. What he did to his daughter, what he made those children into.

People. He just could not get it. He wasn't sure he wanted to really. People were disgusting.

He couldn't help it, those kids made him think of Sam and the things he'd said to his brother. He remembered telling Sam he'd gone way too far off the reservation, that he seemed less…human. How if he was anyone else he would have wanted to hunt him.

Sam wasn't even doing anything bad really, he was saving people; sending demons packing. Okay, so that Ruby bitch was still around, but not always. And Sam was no follower; he'd do things his way. Really, Dean felt that he was the one loosing it, that he was less than human. With the things he'd done, he didn't know how he'd ever think of himself as human again. He was practically a monster. He knew how the power the Demons had allowed him had felt.

It was good, he'd felt better than he'd ever remembered. Great even. Life, human life had started meaning less, being worth less everyday he had that power in Hell.

If he could feel that kind of power again…he didn't know that he wouldn't take a step in the wrong direction. That he didn't think he could be strong enough to resist. Everything was wrong.

Things shouldn't be the way they were. Those children should have had parents that loved them, Dean should be able to sleep at night and trust his brother. Sam had become secretive, always slinking off and Dean knew why. He missed the old, 'what are you thinking, why don't you talk to me?' Sammy.

God, Sammy.

He missed Sammy, because this person now, it wasn't Sammy. It was Sam, and Dean wasn't sure he liked him as much. Sam was a liar; Sammy was annoyingly honest and touchy-feely.

Worse still was that deep down, in the pit of his stomach; part of Dean didn't really care. Not about any of it. The war, the Angels, Lilith. It was too much and he felt like he had less and less to really fight for because most of what he cared about was already gone or irrevocably changed. He was just ready for things to be done, to be over, or be normal.

And he was worried things would never be like they used to. There was something twisting its way through his entire being, choking the very life from him. Hard and dark, it was sucking his will into a lead weight in the dead center of his chest. It was crushing him, and he was too scared to talk to Sam about it.

He just wanted things to be how they were pre-Hell. He wanted _Sammy _and he wanted out of the nightmares. Sometimes at night he could still here their screams. Gut wrenching, blood curdling screams and sometimes they were his own.

More and more lately he didn't have to be asleep to see and hear it. All he had to do was close his eyes, when he blinked it was clear as day.

_It was so hot that the bits of blood and flesh and gore sprinkled across his naked chest cooled him. Blood here was like ice water on the hottest summer day._

_And he relished in it. In the power of it, he loved it. How he'd lived his life without it was a mystery to him. What he could remember of his life, which wasn't much. He remembered he had a brother Sam, Sammy…but even those memories were more short lived with every passing day. It hurt too much to try and hold onto them._

_The wide grin he wore faltered a bit as he noticed that movement had stopped all around him. And that the cries coming from the souls hung up before him had changed. Something in their eyes changed….like they thought they had a hope._

_Looking into those eyes, countless eyes, he came back to himself. His true self and he _**finally ****remembered his name**_. He was Dean. Dean Winchester, and demons hated him, many were scared of his family. And he was better than this._

_He staggered a step back from the bloody, sagging bodies that he'd been ripping apart with his own hands. He thought he should be vomiting, crying, and scolding himself. This wasn't him, he shouldn't have gotten down. Why did he get down, what was wrong with him?_

_He was becoming what he hated more than anything, more than he hated being here. He thought about his time on the rack, begging for the pain to end and he knew he'd never had the gleam of hope that these souls had. He couldn't understand because peace or even just an end was something they would never get._

_He'd barely turned away from them before the souls started crying out for mercy and the Demons moved toward him. A blinding light forced his eyes closed and a searing pain ripped through his shoulder and into his body. The next thing he knew it was dark and it hurt to breathe._

His hands came up to his head, his fingers scraping through his hair. Even thinking about it made him want to cry, he could feel the tears stinging. He wanted more than anything to be able to let it out, but he couldn't - wouldn't. It'd be tantamount to coming right out and saying what he was: a monster. Even if that's how he felt, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

He wanted everything was going to be okay. He wanted to _know_ it would be okay.

He heard the door open, but he wasn't hungry anymore, "I'm gonna hit the hay Sam." he wiped at his face like he had a headache, which wasn't untrue, but it was really just a slick move to keep his brother from seeing his tears.

He didn't need to worry, Castiel stood in the door way. Dean groaned, "Look, Cas, I'm not really in the mood." he dropped his gaze back to the floor.

The Angel didn't say anything; he just stepped inside and took a seat at the table. He stared at Dean in the manner he always did. He didn't need to see it to know it was the one that said, 'I already know what you're thinking, so say it.' It grated on his nerves and at the same time it was nice to have the offer to talk to someone. Dean knew the Angel would be able to better understand than Sam would.

"Dean," he whispered, "yours was the only misplaced soul there."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear, he didn't understand how a God who was supposed to love everyone, could let anyone suffer like that. What had those people done? All of them couldn't have really, truly deserved to be there.

"How does He let that kind of stuff happen?" he was back to the children again, he would have liked to have called them by names, but he doubted they'd ever had any. He looked up and caught the Angel's steel gray eyes.

"I can't explain to you His ways. I'm not privileged to that knowledge." Castiel folded his hands on the table top.

"What happens to them now? Where do they go?"

"They're at peace."

"Really? 'Cause they killed people - at least one for no good reason, isn't that one of those Hell worthy sins? There's not a lot of peace in Hell."

"What happened to those people-"

"Children."

He inclined his head, "Children. What happened to them was unfortunate-"

"Unfortunate? They were kids; He was supposed to look out for them! No one was there for them, no one." He had to kill a child tonight because God had some backwards plan that necessitated the horrible mistreatment of kids. And he felt like there was no one there for him.

And if there was no one there for him, what was to stop him from walking back down the path he'd started after their father died? What was there to keep him from slipping into who he was in Hell, because sometimes he thought that'd be easier than caring. But he didn't want to go back there, he really, truly didn't. The thought that he could end up back there scared him more than anything in the world, more than any monster or demon could hope to scare him.

"I would ask you not to interrupt me." Castiel's gaze hardened slightly, "It's rude."

He smirked, "You have no idea, do you?"

"I've not been home since He sent me for you. I can't keep track of every soul, Dean." There was a hint of sadness in his voice. Dean didn't care.

"Well, what the hell good are you? You don't know anything. You're loosing a war," he spoke like he was ticking items off a list, "your buddy Uriel is a douche and you don't know anything!" he was standing now, fists at his sides. Neither man spoke and after a minute Dean shook his head and sank back to the bed. "What are you even fighting for? We're…people are idiots, we don't deserve it."

"It's given freely. People needn't earn it."

"Well that's stupid." he shot a sideways glance at the table. Castiel hadn't moved. He still stared; his hands were still folded in front of him. Dean had the distinct impression he knew something that he just wasn't saying. He was an Angel after all, he kept in contact with other Angels; he must have some information.

"Do you know where anyone is?" he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. So he wouldn't know what became of those kids, maybe he could learn what happened to a few people. People who he was closer to, that had been more important to him.

"I hear some things, from those who are in a better position to look." he leaned forward, "Ask me what you want to know Dean."

"Where's my dad?"

"I never saw him, but I understand that there was nothing to keep his soul here." Okay, so he wasn't in Hell and he wasn't hanging around Earth. Only one place left, unless limbo was a viable option. Castiel kept speaking, "Your mother, on the other hand…"

Dean's head snapped around so fast, he could have sworn he'd heard a pop, "You know my mom?"

He smiled, "I've seen her. She was always surrounded by others."

"My grandparents?"

"You're descendant from an extraordinary line of people, Dean." he smiled.

Dean turned his body more toward Castiel, sitting up straighter, "One of the Witnesses, Meg."

"I don't know. She was called back, it's very possible she still lingers."

"She deserved better." Like a spark in the night, a name came to him from the distant past, "Layla Rourke."

Castiel shook his head, "Come on man, you have to know more than this."

"I told you, I can't keep track of every soul. One has been placed in my care." he sent Dean a knowing look, "It is enough to keep track of you."

"Well, don't let it burden you." he shot back. He didn't need looking after, not from people who'd let him die in the first place. Dean didn't see Castiel as much of a Guardian Angel. He was more or less a bloodhound, following him and his brother around.

"I can ask, Dean. If you'd like."

He would. "Yeah. Thanks." Castiel nodded and stood, "Whoa, hey. That's all you came for? To chat it up?"

"I don't always come to tell you bad news."

"Yeah, you do." Dean stood, and took up a stance in front of the Angel in the man. He looked at the table, dragging his fingers along the edge. "Cas…when I…" he shook his head, he just wanted to rest but he wanted to know, "when I die, again, will-"

An out stretched hand cut Dean off, "Don't make any more deals and you needn't fear Hell, Dean."

He didn't look up. He closed his eyes as relief flooded through his body. The tight ball that had been in his chest since he woke up in his own pine box finally melted away. He honestly felt lighter. It felt like his blood was finally circulating again, he could breathe.

When he did look up again, Castiel was gone. He grinned into the space where the man had been, water filling his eyes again. He didn't have to go back. There were some ground rules, don't deal with demons, which wasn't something he was planning on having to do ever again.

He didn't have to go 'd been so frightened that he would die one day and end up there just because.

Now he just had to make sure Sam didn't end up there.

* * *

I feel like the conversation sounded better in my head. It was like, two in the morning when I was talking it out in my head, and I didn't write it down. I spent about three days trying to make it sound as good as I remembered it.

Let me know what you think of it. Thank you much. (Also, am i the only one having issues with the 'Edit/Preview Document' thing? When I loaded my story everything was underlined and in italics - weirdness.)


End file.
